Moral Choices, Not “Inauspicious Stars,” in Romeo & Juliet (with a conjecture on Romeo’s tragic flaw)

Shakespeare’s tragedy Romeo and Juliet has acquired a reputation for putting forth a fatalistic world view, as if these young lovers’ lives (and possibly everyone’s) are dictated more by astrology than by the consequences of human choices.  But this reputation is ill-deserved and comes from too much shallow reading of the play.

Yes, line 6 of the opening Prologue calls the lead characters “star-crossed lovers,” and Romeo, upon hearing of Juliet’s supposed death, defiantly cries, “Then I defy you, stars!”  In his last speech before his suicide Romeo says he is about to “shake the yoke of inauspicious stars” (Act V, Scene 3, line 111, or V.3.111, in the Folger Shakespeare Library edition). 

Very early in the play, before crashing the Capulet’s masquerade party where he will meet Juliet, he expresses fears that:
“Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night’s revels…”  (I.4.114-116).

After he has rashly killed Tybalt in the play’s pivotal scene, Romeo laments that he is “Fortune’s fool” (III.1.142) rather than expressing any remorse for a tragic moral choice.  In the final scene he professes himself to be “writ… in sour misfortune’s book” (V.3.82).

Isn’t that enough to constitute a theme of the play?  Not if we look closer.  Notice that every one of these references—other than the line from the Prologue—is in the words of one character:  Romeo.  Other characters refer to “heaven” or “the heavens” (clearly a metonymy for God) as having power to influence the action.  See Friar Lawrence in IV.5.100-101 and Prince Escalus in V.3.302-303.  Juliet uses “the clouds” very similarly (III.5.208).  But these are references to a superintending deity exercising moral judgment, not the impersonal zodiac.

Moral Choices

The play is driven at every turn by the free moral choices of its major characters.    Inordinate haste in matters of love and marriage, especially matters hidden from both sets of parents, is a moral issue that the characters are aware of yet hurry ahead regardless.  Juliet in the famous balcony scene pushes the romance forward precipitously despite confessing “no joy” at a contract that is “too rash, too unadvised, too sudden” (II.2.124-127).  Friar Lawrence soon seconds her concern, urging Romeo, “Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast,” (II.3.101) yet the young lovers hasten ahead with his assistance.  Lawrence even foresees that “These violent delights have violent ends” (II.6.9).

Morally irresponsible decisions by the characters themselves create virtually every development leading to the final tragedy.  Romeo’s fatal vengeance on Tybalt, (III.1.88-91) which he admits is abandoning mercy in favor of “fire-eyed fury” (III.1.128-129) is provoked by Tybalt himself, but still not excusable on biblical grounds (“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” Rom. 12:19) and Prince Escalus does not totally excuse it (III.1.196-197).  [It is worth noting, however, that Escalus reduces to banishment his previously-threatened penalty of death even as he moralizes that “Mercy but murders, pardoning those who kill” (III.1.207).  He will later regret his leniency (V.3.304-305) and blame that moral fault in himself for additional deaths—those of his own kinsmen.]

In the final graveyard scene Romeo kills Paris unnecessarily and seems to blame the victim for the sinful act, even acknowledging that his killing of Tybalt was similarly sinful.  “Put not another sin on my head by urging me to fury” (V.3.62-63).

We should not let Friar Lawrence himself escape our moral scrutiny.  He does marry a 13-year-old girl to the young son of her household’s mortal enemy without telling either family, and then puts the young bride through a “desperate” exploit (IV.1.70), which goes fatally wrong after all, in an effort to keep the matter hidden.  Even more inexcusably in the graveyard scene, he leaves the desperate Juliet to her suicide in the tomb (after V.3.165) because “a noise did scare me from the tomb” (V.3.271).  He will admit that his action was blameworthy (V.3.234-236) and express his willingness to die for this guilt (V.3.275-278) but Escalus immediately (and leniently!) excuses him as a “holy man.”

The only crucial plot development that was nobody’s fault is the miscarried message from Friar Lawrence to notify Romeo of the pseudo-death stratagem involving Juliet, which Lawrence will only call “Unhappy fortune” (V.2.17) and an “accident” (V.2.27 and V.3.260) rather than blaming it on the stars.

We’ve examined moral choices of Romeo, Friar Lawrence, and Escalus, and we could do the same with other important characters including Juliet.  But we can probably afford to excuse her for being 13, and even without her the evidence seems as overwhelming as it is generally overlooked.  Romeo & Juliet is not a play about fatalistic celestial interference in innocent lives, but a straightforward cautionary tragedy with the standard Aristotelian features of a tragic hero and his tragic flaw which brings about his tragic fall.  (See my 7-26-10 post titled “Tragic Heroes”.)  Too often Romeo is easily dismissed as an exception to Aristotle’s rule, but here is the conjecture on his tragic flaw promised in the title.  Isn’t Romeo, young as he is, fatally flawed with moral denial—that is—a refusal to acknowledge his own responsibility for his woes and a “default reaction” of blaming, instead, the stars (fate) and even the victims of his fury (Tybalt and Paris)?

James 1:13-16 warns us not to be deceived into thinking that our sins result from forces outside ourselves (even God, specifically) that impel us to sin.  It is temptations and lusts within ourselves, not acknowledged and resisted in a godly way, that lead to sin and “bring forth death.”  If we refuse to take responsibility for our own sins, we are calling God a liar, says the apostle in First John 1:8-10, a text that Romeo desperately needed to understand and obey.  

Well, there’s the big ending for now.  But I have at least one more post that I want to get into words before long dealing with another serious moral issue of the play.  Suicide.  It’s not just the bleak outcome of the play, it’s a recurring theme throughout, and it deserves a Bible-based exploration one of these days.

Hamlet

Hamlet. Most scholars and followers of classical literature place it somewhere on a scale between the greatest tragedy ever written by Shakespeare and the greatest play of any kind ever written by anyone. It is a worldwide phenomenon, translated into countless languages, performed constantly around the 24 time zones by amateurs, school and college groups, and professionals in its original form and in modernized variations, on live stage and screen.

Structurally, it is composed of three consecutive stories each with its own climactic scene. First a ghost story, next a detective story, finally a revenge story. Hamlet must first brave a meeting with a ghost of dubious identity, next play the sleuth to confirm whether the ghost has told him the truth, finally take the revenge that (he believes) only he can and should do.

Of course the whole issue of taking revenge is central in the play, especially for Christians who know that "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord" (Rom. 12:19 paraphrasing Deut. 32:35). But perhaps this is not a standard revenge story at all, considering that Hamlet can be seen as the rightful ruler of Denmark with the sole God-given authority and responsibility (Prov. 20:26) to crush a false usurper who has assassinated Hamlet's royal father. The throne may not have been automatically hereditary in the Denmark portrayed by Shakespeare, but seems to have been virtually so, probably dependent only upon the "voice" of the previous monarch. Hamlet from the beginning sees himself (reluctantly) as the one person in "out of joint" Denmark "born to set it right" (I.5.210-211). He says that the false king Claudius has come between "th' election" (being crowned king) and his hopes (V.2.73). Fortinbras, who will become king at the end on the strength of Hamlet's "dying voice" (V.2.392-393), closes the play by saying that Hamlet would have "proved most royal" if he had lived (V.2.443-444).

One could argue that David, anointed as Israel's king to replace Saul, did not kill the divinely "deposed" king (First Samuel 24:6, 10), but it is up to the reader to decide whether that situation is analogous to the situation between Hamlet and his Uncle Claudius. The usurper is certainly the assassin of a legitimate king, a crime worthy of death in itself, but who has the authority to bring him to justice?

Beyond his central crime of fratricide, we see other deep character flaws in Claudius. He cannot bring himself to confess to heaven and repent of his sins, although he tries to go through the forms (III.3.40-103), and in the end he chooses not to save Queen Gertrude's life because it would have exposed him for his plot to kill Hamlet (V.2.315-318). However, it is not Claudius' tragic flaw we are seeking, but that of our tragic hero, Hamlet himself. Most often, something like "indecision" is nominated, although it is debateable whether that qualifies as a tragic flaw. (See my "Topics" post on "Tragic Heroes.") Hamlet certainly chides himself for lacking sufficient internal motivation to act, and his delay certainly expands the tragedy to encompass the deaths of multiple people including himself. After watching an actor bring himself to tears by simply reciting a speech, Hamlet reproaches himself for not acting upon legitimate motivation (II.2.577-616), and later with even more justification he compares his inaction with the military determination of Fortinbras and his soldiers (IV.4.41-69).

Ironically, the one time he does act hastily it is to impetuously, mistakenly kill the wrong man (III.4.29). And the one time he has the perfect opportunity and the full intention of slaying Claudius, he gives in to a desire to make his revenge even worse, filtered through a faulty view of God's final judgment, and delays his action once again. Claudius appears to be praying, and Hamlet decides that killing him at such a pious moment will not result in sufficient punishment for eternity (III.3.70-103). The supreme irony here is that Claudius is not praying at all, but trying to summon the will to do so.

The search for Hamlet's tragic flaw is complicated for some readers by the question of his sanity. They find it difficult to hold a person in the grip of madness accountable for his faults. So the persistent question of whether Hamlet is insane, and to what extent, becomes relevant. Is his "madness" entirely feigned as a cover for his early detective work and his later maneuvering to kill the king? Some lines that may help with this question include II.2.223-224 and 399-403. In any case, Shakespeare later shows us Ophelia's genuine and pitiful insanity (IV.5.1-78) as a comparison/contrast.

Shakespeare has created a set of doctrinal assumptions, quite consistent with the Roman Catholic environment of the time when the play is set, within which Hamlet works, and it goes well beyond the prince's view of judgment day. The idea of Purgatory, a place of "burning off" unresolved sins before being finally delivered to heaven, is seen in I.5.5-28 and 81-88, as well as V.1.230-247, V.2.52 and Hamlet's decision to kill the king at a more "sinful" time, mentioned above. The idea of suicide being not only a sin, but beyond the range of God's full forgiveness, is implied or stated in I.2.133-136, II.1.64-96, and V.1.230-247.

A Bible doctrine that would be much less controversial across Christianity would be the strong denunciation of adultery that runs throughout the play. It starts with Hamlet's reference to "incestuous sheets" (I.2.162) before he even knows that there was a murder involved, because he considers a widow's marriage to her former brother-in-law to be adulterous. It continues in passages including I.5.49-64, III.4.49-60, and indirectly in III.1.146-162 where Hamlet's railing against women in general probably grows from his horror over his mother's adultery.

Hamlet seems to have a good grasp on biblical truth in areas such as seeking God's forgiveness (III.4.170-179) and exchanging human forgiveness (V.2.361-364). He knows the extent of his own sinfulness (III.1.131-140) and his "What is man?" speech (II.2.327-332) parallels Psalm 8:4-6. Most of all, he speaks eloquently of his death being in the hands of God, notably in V.2.233-238 where he cites Matt.10:29-31 on God's notice of a sparrow's fall. See also V.2.11-12.

Additionally, there are many references and allusions to the Bible itself, both serious and humorous, many of them based on relatively small details of scripture. These include I.1.174, I.4.43-49, II.2.434-436, IV.4.61, and V.1.79.

Aside #1: For me, an unfortunate aspect of the story is Hamlet's devious orders that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern be executed. They are, of course, traitors to his cause, but they are "small men" in the employ of Claudius, and relatively harmless in my view. I don't see that Hamlet had the moral authority to have them killed, and I don't see any necessity for their deaths. I'm waiting for someone to convince me otherwise, but I think that Shakespeare's decision to write that subterfuge into Hamlet's character detracts needlessly from the "noble heart" of the "sweet prince" that his friend Horatio speaks of at play's end (V.2.396).

Aside #2: Notice the extent of the similarities between the scene where the ghost of Old Hamlet intervenes to protect Gertrude from Hamlet's rage (III.4.118-159) and the scene in Macbeth (III.4.59-129) where the ghost of Banquo appears (but only to Macbeth) at the banquet. Compare Lady Macbeth's reaction to her husband's behavior with Gertrudes reaction to her son's.

Aside #3: Don't overlook the tools for teaching Hamlet mentioned in my post "Teachers' Resources on Shakespeare."

Tragic Heroes

Aristotle’s definition of tragedy, the tragic hero, the tragic flaw, and the tragic fall, has survived pretty well. It is not always the rule that great or small playwrights follow, but it remains the standard against which their forays into tragedy are judged, or at least compared. Shakespeare was very willing to violate some of Aristotle’s precepts, especially as his career progressed, but that gives us no less reason to understand what the great Greek philosopher wrote in the first place, based on his observations of the considerable body of tragedy that he was privileged to witness in his lifetime.

To start simply with the tragic hero himself, Aristotle said that he must be both great and good. By “great,” he meant a man in a high position such as a king or a general. He reasoned that the tragic fall of a lesser man will not sufficiently engage the attention or emotions of the audience. In the greater scheme of things (cf. the medieval idea of the Great Chain of Being) he wouldn’t be falling very far. [In modern times, Arthur Miller mounted a very conscious challenge to this idea with his play Death of a Salesman and his essay Tragedy and the Common Man. The salesman’s wife delivers a heart-tugging statement of Miller’s premise in her “I’m not saying he’s a great man…” speech.]

By “good,” he meant a man of sufficient moral quality that we will lament, “What a loss!” when his fall comes. The fall of a villain is just what we expect and desire; it does not teach the moral lesson that the Greeks were trying to teach in their dramas. (The Greeks, remember, used their plays for religious reasons, as acts of worship to the god Dionysus—not that Dionysus was a particularly “moral” god!—so moral improvement was to be the goal of worthwhile scripts.) We think of ourselves as good, so we will identify best with a good hero and take warning that if he falls, we might also unless we beware.

However, this good man must have a serious moral flaw that will contribute powerfully to his downfall. The more clearly the audience members can identify this flaw and see its consequences, the better they will be morally instructed about that particular flaw. So here is the fulcrum of the delicate balance that made a great tragedy in Aristotle’s view. The flaw had to be a grievous one yet the hero had to be, on balance, good. This required that external factors must also contribute to the fall. These could include coincidence or accident, villainy on the part of others, etc. The delicate balance is that too much tragic flaw makes the hero too close to a villain, and too much external factor weakens or destroys the “moral lesson” aspect. My extreme example of the latter is that a good, great man at the height of his virtue is walking down a sidewalk and is killed by a flowerpot falling from a fourth-floor window.

Tragic flaws are not just moral slip-ups or particular unwise choices. They must be deeply-rooted flaws in character, not individual sins but a malignant core of sin that metastasizes to take harmful control of a man’s life. The most common example in the Greek tragedies, and certainly represented among Shakespeare’s heroes also, is “hubris,” the Greek word for a titanic level of pride that challenges even “the gods.” King Leontes in the first half of the tragicomedy A Winter’s Tale provides the most blatant of Shakespeare’s examples when he reluctantly consults the god Apollo’s oracle at Delphi to determine whether his charge of adultery against his queen is true, but then, when the god’s verdict in the queen’s favor is unsealed and read at her public trial, bellows, “There is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle. The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.” (III.2.151-152) The divine retribution comes down on Leontes’ head immediately.

Other seemingly obvious flaws that bring about some of Shakespeare’s tragic heroes include Macbeth’s “ambition” in the negative sense of challenging God, and Othello’s “green-eyed monster,” jealousy. But even in these cases, Shakespeare makes sure the flaw is not as one-dimensional as it appears. Othello’s jealousy, for example, is definitely fueled by his insecurity and gullibility. But are these tragic flaws? And could the jealousy have grown without them?

Even more often, Shakespeare builds outright ambiguity into the question of his tragic hero’s flaw. Identifying Hamlet’s flaw has been a controversial exercise for centuries now. Indecision? Yes, but is that a moral failing? And what is Romeo’s tragic flaw? Acting too hastily on his first-sight youthful passion for Juliet by marrying within hours? His killing of Tybalt in a street brawl he had tried to avoid? Mistakes in judgment, but moral flaws worthy of death? King Lear’s flaw? Bad temper? Misjudging his daughters? Shakespeare complicates this one by giving us a tragic hero who is eighty years old and showing signs of senility from the beginning of the play. [Arthur Miller borrows from this device, complicating the tragic flaw question with his salesman’s mental state. A fair question: How responsible can people be for the deteriorating of their own minds?]

The ultimate tragic fall of the hero almost always includes his death. Sophocles’ Greek classic Oedipus the King is one exception, but only because the hero chooses something he considers worse than death rather than the expected suicide.

A Christian study of literary tragedy can be enriched by having students apply what they’re learning to the Bible’s account of King Saul in First Samuel chapters 9-11, 13-24, 26-29, 31.